A Name Synonymous to Danger
by roastednarglenuggets
Summary: After her Muggle house is burned down by an unknown arsonist, Hermione Granger meets someone she'd never expected to see again after the Battle of Hogwarts - Draco Malfoy. After a series of "missions" they are sent on together, they learn to accept each other - but in time, it turns into something else.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Hey, guys. This is my first Dramione story. Hope you like it.

-ronarnu

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

Hermione Granger sighed blissfully as she took a sip of the warm coffee that was placed into her hands. The warm, sweet beverage slipped down her raw throat, soothing her tumultuous mind. It had been a hard day, and it certainly wasn't getting any better. It was only last week that her own house (Muggle, of course) had burned down in a fire started by an unknown arsonist.

"Hermione!" a voice bellowed from the kitchen. "Stop drinking my coffee!"

Ginny Potter wrenched away the still-steaming mug from Hermione's hands.

"Well, you put it in my hands-"

"Ugh, no, I didn't. Merlin, you really need to get some sleep."

Ginny, exasperated, sat down next to Hermione and folded her hands on top of the table.

"You have really got to move out soon this time," she began.

Hermione groaned.

"Albus and James are growing quickly. Lily's only two weeks old, but you'd be surprised. In a couple of months, this small house will get even smaller. Besides, we're living in a Muggle neighborhood. This isn't Hogsmeade."

"I know, I know," replied Hermione.

They had had this "talk" two times a day already, and she'd just moved in two days ago. Hermione always promised to move out soon, but forgot, as she was always reading books. There were five lying on the table already.

"Hopefully, I'll get a job soon," she said. "If worst comes to worse, then I'll jut tell Headmistress McGonagall that I accepted the job-"

"What job?" cut in Ginny. "Why didn't you tell me? When did you get this letter?"

"Well, if you would stop interrupting me, I would tell you," Hermione glared playfully at her good friend.

Ginny finally stopped wriggling.

"Anyway, she offered me a position as a Transfiguration professor, about a week ago, and she said she was retiring soon. I didn't want to tell you because I figured you would hound me with questions like you are now-"

"Why would Professor McGonagall want to retire?" mused Ginny. "She's been teaching at Hogwarts probably for as long as Dumbledore."

Practically all of Professor McGonagall's former students still called her Professor McGonagall, and they had never really grown up from it.

"I guess I'll owl her back and tell her that I'm accepting it," Hermione said. "But I'd probably make a horrible professor."

"But a good one," Ginny said. " If she wanted you to replace her, then you would have to be excellent. Besides, you're pretty young—only twenty seven. Not even half as old as that Snape. He was pretty cranky."

The two women shared a small laugh over that. Snape had been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts, and they both respected him after Harry told them who their former professor actually was under the whole disguise. But they couldn't help but mock him, just a little bit.

"First things first, we're going to owl Professor McGonagall tomorrow and tell her that you 've accepted the job."

"Alright," replied Hermione. Then she grinned. "James is going to Hogwarts the year after this year, isn't he?"

"Yes," Ginny said. Just then, both of them heard a loud shrieking from the top of the staircase. A child's voice howled, "Mum, James is kicking me!"

"Well, kick him back!" shouted Ginny.

"I-can't-OW! MUMMMM!"

Ginny sighed. "Albus can never defend himself…well, I'm going to sort that whole mess up upstairs. Harry's sleeping- we wouldn't want to disturb him. Hermione, you really should go to bed-"

"No, I'm fine," she interrupted.

As Ginny went to check on her children, Hermione stared at the moving photograph of all four of them – Harry, Ginny, Ron and her on the wedding day. They were all hugging and smiling, Ginny a radiant bride in white silk. The photograph was sitting innocently on the table, waiting.

The next day, Hermione did the exact thing she was reluctant to do. But with Ginny's help, she managed to tie the rolled-up note and throw the large owl out into the wind.

"So, that's it," Hermione said. "Would you mind if I stayed over here for two more months?"

"Well," Ginny hesitated. "Since your house burned down, and you've been here for only a couple of days, I'll cut you some slack."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione told her. "You really are a great friend. By the way, where's Harry? I didn't see him this morning…is he sick?"

"Oh, no," the other woman assured her. "He took the kids to the park."

Hermione nodded.

They sat there awhile, until Hermione stood up. "Well, I'm going to Diagon Alley," she said. "I have to make a deposit to Gringotts."

She Apparated, a few seconds later, and found herself standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron. She opened the door and went in.

"Hey, Hermione!" someone yelled from the back of the room.

"Neville?"

She squinted.

The man that had just called out to her was tall, slightly buff, and had dark hair.

"Yeah, it's me," Neville told her as he approached her.

"Neville! Wow, I haven't seen you in ages. How are you?"

"Great," said Neville. He scratched his head. "Hannah and I moved in here recently, and I had to quit my job as Herbology professor at Hogwarts."

"Really? What was being a professor like? Professor McGonagall offered me a position as Transfiguration professor because she was going to retire soon," Hermione told him.

Neville didn't look surprised at all. "I always knew you were the smartest witch at school," he said. "No wonder why Professor McGonagall chose you to replace her. Anyway, being a professor is kind of easy and kind of hard—you just have to teach your stuff and impress your students sometimes. But you've got a lot of stuff to manage, depending on what subject you teach, I guess."

Hermione took this advice and carefully stored it inside her mind. It would prove itself valuable in a couple of weeks.

In truth, ever since she moved to London, she'd missed the excitement of magic, the candies in Honeydukes, and the beautiful, picturesque Christmas scenery in Hogsmeade. But she missed her old friends and acquaintances, most of all—Neville, Luna, George, and so many others. Nobody had really moved past the Battle of Hogwarts - so many loved ones had perished in the fight, but the grief seemed to lessen every passing day. Hermione wanted, so much, to go back to Hogwarts and isolate herself in the library. Reading had been a way to manage the loneliness and to help her get on with her life. And she had read almost three-quarters of all the available books, and that was when she was seventeen years old. Now she was twenty-seven, and she was sure that there were plenty of new volumes about recent magical discoveries.

After some idle chitchat with Neville and a slight pause, Hermione added, "Hey, Neville? Are there any drinks you would recommend?"

Neville brightened up. "We added butterbeer to the menu a week ago," he said. "It's a new favorite. It's on the house." He then hurried away behind the bar, and Hermione finally had a chance to observe the Leaky Cauldron. Wizards and witches sat around her, swarthed in brightly colored cloaks, having lively conversations with the person next to them. She could hear little snippets:

"How's Susan?"

"How are your children doing at Hogwarts? Oh, I remember that Flitwick. Tiny little man, but very clever."

"I hear Alice's birthday is next month…she'll be going to Hogwarts soon, eh? Wonder what house she'll be in."

Finally, Neville arrived with a foaming pint of butterbeer. "Sorry, Hermione, I can't stay and talk," he said sheepishly. "Hannah wanted me to run some errands."

"Tell her congratulations for me, Neville," Hermione said.

After saying good-bye to Neville, she sat down at one of the booths and sipped her butterbeer.

_Not bad_, she thought. _Actually, it's pretty good. _It was sweet, but not as sweet as butterscotch.

Suddenly, a man with platinum blonde hair pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. It took her a few seconds before she could actually move again, because Hermione didn't instantly recognize him.

* * *

So, yeah. This will probably be the first chapter out of about 10-15 (I haven't decided yet). Please review! It means a lot to me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry if I didn't make Hermione, Ginny, Harry, or Draco act/sound like themselves in the first chapter. Hopefully, this is better.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy?!"

Draco whipped around to find a young woman staring at him incredulously. She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

_Oh well,_ he thought. _Probably one of those Slytherin girls I had a fling with. _

He ignored her, and took a swig of his Firewhisky. He liked the burning sensation it created in the pit of his stomach, letting him forget all of his troubles.

Then the woman shrugged, turned away, and returned to sipping her butterbeer. She wrestled a huge book out of the small bag she was carrying and turned to the page her bookmark was stuck to. Draco was close enough to see what it was called—**A Storm of Swords**, by some fellow named George.

And then it dawned on him. This girl was Hermione Granger—the Mudblood that he'd hated for seven years. She still had the same drab, crap-colored hair, lack of fashion, and her nose was always somehow buried in a book. Were the pages glued to her? Merlin.

Draco stared at her for two minutes in shock, but Granger didn't look back at him. Her eyes were stuck to the page in front of her, eyes moving left to right at an alarming speed.

"It's you, Mudblood."

Granger didn't reply. So he repeated, a little louder, "Mudblood."

Finally she looked up.

"Granger, what are you reading that's gotten you so interested?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. I'm merely asking. You're still the same stuck-up, neurotic Gryffindor brat I cursed with buck teeth during fourth year." He sneered at her with no remorse.

Granger spat back at him, "And you're still the cowardly, arrogant brute that Buckbeak attacked during third year. I can see that you're still incredibly dense-"

Now that was a blow to his pride. Draco didn't like being reminded of past memories. Especially the bad ones. He chose to ignore the Buckbeak comment, and replied back to her, smugly, "I finished only second to you for the O.W.L.s."

Granger huffed and moved to a different spot.

He decided that he didn't have the time and energy to deal with Granger's shit, and so he left the Leaky Cauldron to go to Diagon Alley, where he wandered around aimlessly for several hours.

All the colors and cheerfulness of area annoyed Draco. Why was everyone so happy?

Teenagers in robes huddled in groups, chatting about the latest gossip. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor seemed especially busy today. The Weasle twins' shop were crammed with children.

Draco's father, Lucius, had become a new member of a secret organization, which was recently discovered by the Ministry. Thank Merlin Draco wasn't part of that, so he knew nothing about it. He had had enough of his father's schemes, but somehow he just couldn't break apart from them. He knew Lucius didn't care for him as much as he did fifteen years ago, but it made no difference. Blood prejudice was an inherited trait in his family, and his father had ingrained it into Draco's mind permanently.

After that Battle of Hogwarts, both father and son had served their fair share in Azkaban. It had been a tough nine years.

Draco's mother, on the other hand, was becoming more and more aloof each passing day. After he was released from Azkaban, Narcissa had once tried to set her son up with the younger Greengrass daughter, Astoria, claiming that they went well together. She convinced many women—Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis, and even went as far as Millicent Bulstrode. However, Draco wasn't fooled. His mother now isolated herself in one of the bedrooms of the Malfoy Manor and refused to eat and talk. He couldn't blame her. All the years of being a Death Eater and the chronically worried mother of a young wizard who had joined the Dark Side had taken its toll on Narcissa.

Draco was on his own.

The Slytherin "friends" he had had all abandoned him and started leading their own perfectly normal lives. They had their own jobs and families to care about, not Draco.

He moved over to a bench in the corner of Diagon Alley and pulled out a letter from his pocket. It was a thick, cream-colored parchment that had arrived via owl a few weeks ago. He reread it:

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are offering you a position as Potions master in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have noticed your talent in brewing potions, especially Polyjuice Potions and various healing concotions. The latest professor has moved to France two days ago to start a wizarding chess institute.

Many of the students at Hogwarts overlook the fact that you were one a Death Eater, but I know that you have changed since your time in Azkaban. We are entrusting you with the safety, academic and social growth of the next generation of witches and wizards. We sincerely hope that you will accept this position.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Draco gingerly folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. He scowled, got up from the bench, and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Immediately after Malfoy left the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione scowled. _Damn him, that putrid bastard._ She despised him more than ever. Malfoy was still an arrogant, disgusting, insufferable git. He hadn't changed at all in the ten years.

But then again, he had his own problems. He could deal with his, she could deal with hers. Right now, she had to focus on getting ready for tomorrow, which was the first day of her teaching job. Hermione didn't have any experience with children, and she wasn't exactly excited, and she didn't want any possible students to overtake her in academic studies. Who knew if there was an especially clever student whom she would have to deal with?

Hermione left the bar through the back and entered Diagon Alley, which was teeming and alive with colors and faces. Small children ran rampant throughout the area, running in and out of the shops. One almost knocked her over.

"Merlin. I certainly hope I won't be teaching first or second years," she muttered to herself, before entering Gringotts.

* * *

It was July, and Draco wasn't coping well with the weather. One day, it was too hot, the other it was too cold. Wiltshire was definitely not a comfortable place to live, and he wasn't doing anything to help himself. Draco sat around, slept around, and lived a tremendously tedious life.

He got up from green-and-silver covered couch in the living room and staggered to the bathroom. A nice morning shave needed to happen, so Draco raised his wand, rasped "_Tondesco_," and the stubble from his face disappeared. How did Muggles manage to shave without using any magic? Idiots.

Draco disliked children. He chuckled and fondly remembered the first time he had insulted Potter and his two pathetic followers. He had faintly remembered the Weasel trying to curse him and having the curse backfire, resulting in the stupid git vomiting slugs. He had laughed his insides out that day. Draco also greatly relished the time he cursed the Mudblood with large teeth and humiliated her in front of everybody. Ah, the memories.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Draco remembered Snape. Snape had been his favorite teacher, and Draco himself had been his favorite student, but he didn't know how to feel after Snape died. Sad? Angry? Malfoys didn't feel these emotions. In the end, he settled for indifference. Snape's death was one of the many casualties that occurred during the Battle of Hogwarts. There was no black and white, because everything was gray now. Draco wondered what the point of living was if there was none.

He decided to put off answering to McGonagall's note until tomorrow. Right now, he had some drinking to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Wow, I didn't expect that many reviews and follows for this story! Thanks for all the feedback - I really appreciate it!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

Students slowly filed into the room one by one, groaning in pretend agony. Hermione stood behind the huge desk and watched them curiously, all while thinking, _what's so bad about school?_

There were about ten boys and nine girls—a relatively small class, but Hermione knew from experience that even small classes were difficult to handle. She had been in one before, and it wasn't a very comfortable memory.

After they all took their places (after an amount of some jostling and pushing around), she cleared and throat and began.

"I'm Professor Granger, the new Transfiguration teacher," she said as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "As you know, Headmistress McGonagall has decided to step from teaching and let me replace her for a while. First thing's first, let's try a simple spell to test your abilities—"

A girl in the front of the classroom raised her hand.

"Yes?"

"Do we have to introduce ourselves?"

Hermione internally smacked herself in the face. Of course!

"Yes, of course, sorry. There's a Muggle tradition where we go around the room and each say something interesting about ourselves."

That was the best beginning she could come up with in two seconds.

She had even read a book on teaching, but it didn't facilitate her time in the classroom like it said it would. Instead, it just made it awkward and horrible.

So Hermione stood in front of the room, listening to the facts the students provided about themselves. So far, she'd heard some very disturbing ones:

"My uncle was a Death Eater and died in Azkaban after four years."

"I once accidentally choked on a piece of bread and it came out of my ear."

Hermione cringed, and the students continued to talk.

"I can wiggle my ears."

To prove his point, the student sitting in the second room stood up to give the class a show. Most of the others burst out laughing at his antics.

"Harry Potter is my idol."

"I have newspaper clippings of Harry Potter all over the walls in my room."

"I used to have a pet dragon until it flew away."

Hermione didn't believe the last one, and finally, a boy at the back spoke up.

"Before I tell you my interesting fact, Professor, I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"How do you know all of these 'Muggle traditions? Are you a Muggle?"

And then Hermione made the mistake of answering truthfully, "Of course."

The boy sneered at her, and started laughing. "A Hogwarts professor, Muggle! Ha! My father'll hear about this, and he'll get you fired!" Some others in the class began to chant along with him.

"Mudblood! Mudblood! Mudblood!"

Hermione stared at her class, feet rooted to the ground. Her blood began to boil, and her hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

Something inside her snapped. Too long. She'd been treated like this for practically her whole life at Hogwarts, and she was sick of it. There was nothing wrong with being Muggleborn, and she was proud of her heritage.

"What did you say?" she asked softly.

The class quieted down.

"Mudblood!" The boy who had started the chant jeered.

He strongly reminded Hermione of Draco Malfoy, whom she had just seen in the Leaky Cauldron a few days ago. Everything about them was similar—the physical appearance, for example. They both had the same platinum blonde hair that was parted in the middle, cold grey eyes, and ever-permanent mouth that was always carved into a frown. The attitude - Merlin, the way the boy had said "My father'll hear about this!" had mirrored the exact same way Malfoy said it.

And as far as she could tell, both completely pureblooded.

Hermione looked down at the roll call, but she could only see red. Finally, she gave up and stalked to the boy's seat.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Why should I tell you?"

"You either tell me, or you have five seconds to get out of my classroom."

The class suddenly quieted down and turned around to face the drama.

"Damien Vlasta," he spat back at her.

"Now get out."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!" She took care to enunciate each syllable perfectly, even though she was screaming.

She was boiling inside, churning in a pit full of rage. That filthy, disgusting piece of scum—that complete arse—how _dare _he.

"And don't come back until the lesson's over. Since I have the power to do so, I'm going to take away House Points from whatever house you're in once I find out."

Hermione could see a flash of anger in his eyes, but she ignored it and walked over to her desk to start the lesson.

Damien leaped up, gathered his books and wand, and then stormed out of the room. Before he could touch the doorknob, Hermione called after him, "Leave your wand here."

Damien stalked back into the room, carelessly threw his wand onto the seat, and left, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione sank back into the seat, sighing in relief.

It was truly, truly horrible.

The rest of the day went by in a flash. Hermione introduced some new, different spells to her students. She could tell that they had been practicing during the summer, because all of them could either Transfigure objects or make major changes in the objects with their wands. It was a pretty good improvement, and she was impressed with her students' skills.

"Professor?" a small, timid voice jolted her out of her daydreaming. Hermione looked up and saw a tiny Ravenclaw boy raise his hand.

"Yes?"

"AVIFORS!"

She saw the blue light racing towards her, and then shouted the counter spell. The original spell was knocked away midair in a flash of light, and the classroom interrupted into cheers.

_Phew._ It was a barely-evaded spell that would have turned her into a chicken.

"Okay—uh, children, from now on, you can't ever do that to another human being in my classroom. Understand?" Hermione put on a stern expression.

"Sorry, Professor," the Ravenclaw boy said. I just wanted to see how you would react. I heard that you were really smart when you were at Hogwarts. I did a ton of research on you. You were the best friend of Harry Potter." He stated this as if he were completely sure of it.

"Professor, do you know how to change yourself into an animal? Like Headmistress McGonagall used to do?"

"Professor, do you know how to change me into an animal? That would be cool!"

A chorus of voices rose up, shouting, "Professor! What other things can you do?"

Hermione was taken aback for a second or two. Then, she sighed before snapping her fingers to get their attention.

"Well, I'll show you later. And yes, I was one of 'the best friends' of Harry, if you say it like that. Now, anyway, class is almost over, so your homework is to read the passage on page forty-one of your textbook."

"What about Damien?" a brawny Hufflepuff boy asked her as the students were leaving the classroom.

"Oh, he'll probably find his way," said Hermione. "He can come to class tomorrow if he behaves well. I hope." _Not, _she added under her breath.

The boy nodded and exited the classroom.

* * *

"So how was your first day, Granger?" Headmistress McGonagall swept towards her in a black cloak.

Hermione turned around, nearly bumping into someone in the process. The corridors were wide, but between classes, they were inundated with students.

"Headmistress—I didn't think you'd be here—"

"Now, now," McGonagall told her. "If you're acting like this, your first teaching day must have not gone well."

"Yes, it hasn't," Hermione agreed. "I had to kick someone out of my classroom for being disrespectful, my class simply couldn't get under control, and I was almost hexed by a neglectful student."

"My, my," said McGonagall. "Try to be sterner, Granger. The best teachers are both knowledgeable and serious at the same time. Oh, and by the way, could you give this letter to Draco Malfoy? I believe he hasn't replied to me about the open Potions Master position—"

"WHAT?!" Hermione nearly screeched. "Headmistress, why would—how—what in Merlin has he—ugh, why did you give it to him?! He would make a horrible teacher, he hates children, and he's an arrogant, rude arse! He was just released from Azkaban for being a DEATH EATER! A Death Eater, for Merlin's sake!"

People in the corridor were staring at Hermione, but she ignored them. "Malfoy doesn't deserve anything anyone offers him!"

McGonagall sighed. "Hermione, that's why I'm sending the note to him—to give him one last chance to accept the job. If you could be kind enough to deliver it to him, you have my utmost respect. In the meantime, you'll see that your old enemy could have changed."

After a minute of silence and deep breaths, Hermione took the note with quivering fingers, still trembling from the aftermath of her rage, and tucked it into her robe.

* * *

**I'm not sure if this chapter mirrored Hermione's personality accurately, but eh. Also, I uploaded it today because I'll be away for a couple of days. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Sorry, guys! I was kind of busy last weekend, so I didn't have time to update. Here is the new chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

_Where to find Malfoy? _

Hermione had grudgingly accepted Headmistress McGonagall's request to deliver a letter to Malfoy, and she was wondering why se had ever taken it in the first place. But the thing was that Hermione couldn't let her favorite teacher down, even if it meant confronting her archenemy.

She didn't start looking immediately for him. It was a glorious Saturday in Britain, so she decided to get some sleep. Hermione had spent the last several weeks in the library, and had borrowed all the books that she could (there was a "32 book per day" limit imposed, which she thought was stupid), and read them all within a weeks. Even her colleagues at Hogwarts were mildly surprised when she came to work with huge bags under her eyes.

"You really should get some sleep, Hermione. Why are you reading so much? You don't even have to take tests anymore," they told her.

But none of them understood. Hermione felt as if it were her duty, as both a teacher and a student, to learn more. She still had several major topics to cover—for example, the developing process of dragon fetuses, the effect of magically affected water on Snargaluff pods, and the history of magical space exploration. Science and history usually came naturally to Hermione. She also wanted to catch up on Muggle literature—she hadn't read any classics in years.

At exactly five o'clock in the afternoon, she brought her dinner up to her room and began reading. Hermione had specifically instructed the Potter family to leave her alone during this period of time, and they agreed.

Hermione finished the thick tome near seven and went outside for a breath of fresh air.

"I guess I'll start looking for Malfoy now," she said aloud to herself. She groaned. Where else would he be besides in Malfoy Manor?

She was just about to Apparate when she realized that she could just owl him McGonagall's letter. That would save time, money, and the trouble of seeing his face again. It would also give her more time for studying. After their encounter a month ago, Hermione was still livid over Malfoy's too-good-for-you attitude. She never wanted to see him again, and she planned not to. She went back inside.

* * *

Draco Malfoy found himself walking into the Leaky Cauldron more often than necessary. Now that there were several things going on in his life, he needed a reprieve.

"Merlin, Longbottom, what's taking so long? Where's my drink?"

Neville glared at Malfoy in disgust, and grudgingly brought over his bottle of Firewhiskey. Draco snatched the bottle away from Neville and took a long swig.

He was now getting more and more accustomed to the burning sensation that the alcohol produced in his stomach. He wanted it to burn away like his father, who had been caught selling illegal magical spider eggs in the black market. Draco realized that Lucius Malfoy did something new every month.

In July, Lucius started torturing freed house elves in sporadic fits of anger. Where he found them, Draco had no idea. But Lucius would take immense pleasure in watching them suffer, and when Narcissa tried to stop him, she received a large cut on her back that would take months to heal without magic. When Draco tried to intervene, he was brutally kicked aside. Luckily, the Ministry caught him, and fined him eight hundred galleons. The Malfoy family was slightly poorer after that incident, but it was wounded pride that was the first straw for his son.

In August, Lucius had decided to stick to the black market, purchasing some kind of weapon Muggles called "guns." Draco had heard it was extremely dangerous—with one press of the trigger, it could kill a man.

What about the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra? Draco thought to himself. Weak mudbloods couldn't kill anyone if they tried.

And then, finally, the magical spider eggs. He was sure that his father would be thrown into Azkaban again for his increasing madness.

With a long sigh, Draco left the bar the way he had come—back to Malfoy Manor.

There was a small, folded single sheet of paper lying on the table. Draco cautiously approached it. No traps. It was safe.

He opened it and read it. The lines were slightly blurred from the state he was in.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are awaiting your response. Please owl us back by next Thursday, or else we will be forced to report you to the Ministry.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S. I have depended on Miss Granger to deliver this note to you. If you don't respond, I will also send her to deliver another note to you again…personally."

For a moment, Draco stood rooted to the floor. Granger? Granger was sent by that old woman to deliver this note to him? Thank Merlin he didn't end up talking to her dumb Mudblood face. Then he snickered to himself. He could take on that old woman McGonagall any time he wanted to. She called herself the headmistress and couldn't even successfully defend the school from Voldemort. He ignored the note and threw it into the fireplace. Before he could go up to his own room and sulk, a thick red envelope caught his eye. It was a brilliant shade of crimson and beautifully crafted.

Draco snickered again. It was probably one of his admirers.

Oh, well. There was no harm in reading it anyway.

He staggered over to it in his drunken state and ripped it open. Some rose petals floated down to the ground, but Draco subconsciously stepped on them.

It began with, "My dearest Narcissa."

Horrified, Draco kept on reading. He might certainly have looked cool and collected on the outside, but his insides were churning around dangerously.

"Every minute I spend away from you makes me miss you even more. You are my light in this dreadful world of-"

Gritting his teeth, Draco snapped the letter shut and tore it apart. He didn't even want to see who it was from. He had had it. This was the last straw. The last straw.

He stormed upstairs and started to pack in a rage. Draco tore some suitcases open and threw some clothes in, stuffed in some of his prized possessions, and then crammed them shut. Before he left, however, he made sure to leave a short but cold note on the drawer for his mother.

He banged the door shut behind him.

* * *

It was Hermione's third, and probably the most dreadful day she ever had. It was probably because Headmistress McGonagall called her into her office and asked her to personally deliver a new letter to Malfoy.

She didn't want to admit it, but she thought the Headmistress of Hogwarts was being _silly._ She could deliver it herself, if she wanted the letter to get to Malfoy so badly. What was it even about? Why was it so important?

After going back home, Hermione secluded herself in her room and stared at the envelope.

"I should trust you not to open it," Headmistress McGonagall had told her sternly. "Granger, I'm pretty sure I still know what you're like after all these years."

That was still an extremely ambiguous comment on her part, but Hermione couldn't help herself.

Opening the envelope so that no one would ever know, she slid the thin sheet of parchment out and read it.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We wish to inform you that our offer expires the day after tomorrow. If you decide to ignore it or decline the offer, I will ask Miss Granger to give a short talk to you.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Horrified, Hermione dropped the letter. She would have to give a talk to Malfoy? Out of all the other people, McGonagall had sent her? Why?

She and Malfoy had never really reconciled. They still considered themselves to be each other's archenemy, because Hermione thought Malfoy was an arrogant, privileged piece of scum, and Malfoy thought Hermione was a stuck-up Gryffindor teacher's pet. She probably was. But she was the teacher now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I am so, so sorry for not updating in, what, two months? I know this is a really pathetic excuse, but I was caught up in my schoolwork. Sorry. I'm pretty sure nobody reads my stuff anyway. Also, there's a lot of strong language/some explicit content, so be warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

Chapter 5

Draco wandered the streets until the sun fell from the sky. To a passerby, he might have seemed like a man traveling somewhere—a man with places to go.

"Oomph!"

He looked up.

Draco had just crashed into a girl with wild brown hair. He couldn't see her face, as she was currently trying to pick up a huge stack of books that she had dropped during their head-on collision.

"Watch where you're going," snapped Draco irritably.

"Excuse me?" the girl said indignantly, and then she stilled. Her arm froze in the action of returning a book to her arm. _History of Wizarding Space Exploration_, Draco read.

She took a deep breath and looked up.

Hermione Granger, that fucking mudblood. Why was she following him? Was she spying on him? What in the fuck did she want to do with him? Draco's own befuddled train of cursing made him even more confused and angry.

Sensing the silent fury raging in Draco's cold eyes, Granger involuntarily took a step back.

_Good. Mudblood should know her place on the spectrum,_ Draco thought. A smirk crossed his face.

Granger's eyes locked onto his. They stood like that for a while, Draco angrily attempting to stare her down and Granger unrelenting.

Finally, she hissed, "If that's what you're thinking, I am most definitely not following you." _Brat_, she added under her breath.

"Oh, really?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Because why does it seem that everywhere I go, you show up and manage to bother me some fucking more. I've got a feeling that this is about the job offer. No. I'm not taking it, and you can't make me."

If Granger noticed his usage of the swear word, she didn't show it. Instead, she eyed his suitcase and the large bag he was holding. "Stop acting like an immature child," she chided him.

Draco followed her gaze.

"I don't need your fucking help, mudblood!" he hissed vehemently. Oh, if she knew. If she knew.

"Oh, really?"

Now it was her turn with the eyebrow.

"Bitch."

A look of hurt shadowed her face, and she looked down at her shoes for a moment. Something twinged in Draco's gut. What was he turning into?

As quickly as it came, Granger's expression disappeared.

She rifled inside her coat and came up with a thick letter. "This is for you – a little something from the Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"What, do you worship her or something?" Draco sneered. "Old woman should have died years ago, and you're no better than her _slave_."

Granger opened her mouth to say something in response, and then closed it. Draco could see her eyes turning a little glassy, before she wheeled around and briskly walked away, still clutching the stupid books to her chest.

Draco stared at the note. Why was McGonagall so damn intent on sending it to him? Surely this "job offer" wouldn't make a single dent on the lives of anyone who worked in Hogwarts.

He sighed to himself, and suddenly, he was so tired. Would he go home, or would he sleep on a bench in the park? Right now, that was the biggest decision he had to face.

* * *

As Hermione walked back home, she wiped the angry, unshed tears that threatened to spill on her old Gryffindor scarf. What did Malfoy think he was? The king of the universe? He didn't deserve anything that he was given. He certainly didn't deserve the job. Many other people just wanted to make a difference in the wizarding world and actually _help_ students, and there Malfoy was, wanting to be rich and famous and powerful.

She took out her keys and unlocked the front door of the Potter home.

Hermione took off her overcoat and unwrapped her scarf after setting her shoes near the entrance. Ginny walked in, talking to someone on phone. Hermione, in her current dreary state, still managed to marvel at Ginny's quick adaptation to Muggle technology.

"It's Ginny Potter, yes, who's calling?" Her voice gradually became muffled as Hermione walked up to her room.

"Hermione! Wait!"

"It was a wrong-number call," the redhead said apologetically, before taking one look at her best friend's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine, except the fact that Draco Malfoy called me a bitch and decided that he was too good for me," Hermione shook her head. "It's fine, Ginny. It doesn't really affect me that much."

Ginny's face turned hard. "Oh, that Malfoy is going to get it."

"Wait-wait- what do you mean? Are you seriously going to-"

"How do you feel about revenge, Hermione?" Ginny said slyly.

* * *

It was the single worst place Draco had ever stayed in. The tiny bed inside the cramped room barely had enough space for him to stretch one leg. One leg! And he thought he would be better off without his lying, cheating, sorry excuses for parents. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Draco regretted leaving home. However, in a couple more years he would be thirty years old, and he didn't want to be caught dead still living with his parents.

He had grown so accustomed to the fine green-and-gold drapery that covered the expensive furniture in the Malfoy Manor that he could still feel the fabric beneath his fingertips once he touched the crumbling wood dresser in the hotel.

Draco brought his attention to the dingy fireplace that sat at the front of the windowless room. The small iron gates had been rusted over for years. Not even the cockroaches that infested the bathroom dared go near it, and that was saying something.

Draco hadn't thought about how much money he had to take from his family's savings account, and he soon realized that he didn't have enough. At first, he thought about taking Galleons, which his parents had more of than pounds, but what use would magical money have now that Draco had nowhere to go? he was, decidedly, not going back to the Manor. His pride had suffered enough already.

Fuming, Draco let out a loud roar and threw the mug he was drinking into across the room. Shit-quality coffee and glass shards slid down the walls, making him even angrier for some unknown reason.

Granger's brat face, the annoying lady who kept pestering him to accept some disgusting teaching profession in the school he hated, his own whoring, lying mother, his criminal father…. Draco could actually think of many reasons. He savagely kicked the armchair.

A knock on the door startled him. Draco held his breath for several seconds before he could restrain himself from ripping the door off its hinges.

He opened the door.

A young woman in a maid's uniform with dark hair and startling green eyes appeared in his vision. _Astoria Greengrass_, it read on her nametag.

Draco started laughing sarcastically and uncontrollably.

"Oh—so—they decide to send me a maid up here once they hear me throwing shit around?"

Unable to stop himself, he continued. "Look at this room! Look at me. For lack of a better metaphor, I'm the fucking room. Granger's bitchiness," he spat violently, "combined with that fucking piece of trash who did nothing to save Hogwarts from Voldemort, and my parents—_my parents, who might sooner or later get arrested by the ministry_—all make me want to fucking kill myself!"

Draco grabbed the girl's shoulders and shook them as hard as he could, blind with anger, and suddenly, her mouth was on his.

He let the girl do what she liked with him for a few seconds, before he flipped them over onto the bed, which sagged under both their weight. He let his shoulders relax, for the first time in days.

None of them noticed the small paper that floated out of the fireplace.

* * *

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that you've really got to track Mr. Malfoy down now," Headmistress McGonagall gravely told Hermione. "He hasn't responded in four days. I'm afraid something has gone wrong—"

"Excuse me, for interrupting, Professor," Hermione cut in. "But—are you really sure that you want to pick me to go find Malfoy? I mean, we aren't on very good terms, and the last time we saw each other, he called me a bitch."

She decided to let the part about being a slave for McGonagall slip.

"Hermione, I didn't expect you to be this immature," McGonagall told her. "Would you please just deliver the letter?"

Hermione was so tired of doing this. She'd been sent to find Malfoy more times than necessary now, and it was probably stressing her out more than her studies did. Speaking of which, she had to finish the textbook and return it to the library by eight o'clock. Holding her breath and closing her eyes until she counted to ten usually did the trick, so she did exactly that and took the parchment.

"Headmistress, I'm not even sure what Malfoy's whereabouts are exactly—"

The Headmistress then leaned into the young professor and whispered something into her ear.

Hermione nodded slowly.


End file.
